Page 42 of Player Misconduct
Then someone calls my name again, and the moment breaks.
“Aleksi,” she calls out as I start to walk away.
I turn.
“For what it’s worth,” she says softly. “I don’t think I would have survived that night without you.”
"You would have. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."
She hesitates. “It’s going to be quiet around here without you,” her voice soft, then adds, “Maybe some space, and a fresh start with the new season will be good. For both of us.”
The words sting. She’s putting an entire offseason between us.
I still manage a smile. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want.” My throat tightens around the next part. “See you soon, Doc.”
Her lips curve, polite and careful. “Safe travels, Mäkelin.”
Then she turns, heels clicking down the corridor until the sound fades.
And just like that, the message is clear—She wants space.
So I’ll give it to her, but not for long.
By the time I make it out of the stadium, the night air is cool enough to bite. I sit in my car longer than I should, phone in hand, thumb hovering over her name before I finally lock the screen.
If she needs space, I’ll give her miles of it.
A whole ocean, even.
I pull up my travel app, searchHelsinki, and book the first flight out in the morning.
The team won’t need me again until camp starts, and maybe distance is the only thing that’ll keep me from finding excuses to see her.
Who knows—maybe a summer apart will clear the air.
Maybe when I get back, she’ll see things differently. Or maybe she won’t.
Either way, I got one night with her.
And if that’s all I ever get, it’s still more than I ever thought I’d have.
Chapter Eight
Six Weeks After PlayoffLoss
Kendall
Walking into Serendipity’s for lunch is usually my favorite time of the day. The lunch specials and fresh-baked bread fill the coffee shop with the best smells that usually make my mouth water.
But today, something just hits wrong and I can’t put my finger on it.
My nose scrunches up the moment the aroma infiltrates my nose and I have to start breathing from my mouth to keep from gagging.
Something like caramelized onions, mixed with dirty socks drifts from the kitchen. Realistically, I know that it couldn't smell like dirty socks with the line of the coffee shop already forming out the door. Still, my stomach tightens, a sudden twist of nausea I blame on not eating breakfast. Or stress from work. Or the fact that I haven’t stopped thinking about Aleksi since the last night I saw him. Or maybe the stomach cramps are from all three. I head for our usual table, hoping no one notices how terrible I feel.
“Are you okay?” Peyton asks from across the table, one brow arched over her latte.
Well, there goes that hope. These girls know me too well.
